


Girls Only

by lightsaroundyourvanity



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Laughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsaroundyourvanity/pseuds/lightsaroundyourvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie was infectious, and martinis were too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girls Only

They come in tipsy, long after ten, and giggling, Peggy’s nose buried under a woolly scarf, Angie’s hands tucked into her soft brown muff (her mother’s, Peggy remembers, and according to Angie, ‘the only nice damn thing she ever bothered to own’.) 

A night on the town, Angie had cheered, and Peggy had resisted, but Angie was infectious, and martinis were too, and so she’d been dragged towards gaiety and a smoke filled bar.

There had been a time, Peggy remembers, before the war, or perhaps even during, when she’d loved to dance, to laugh, to dress up and fool around with her friends. She still does, she realizes. She’s just more guarded these days, and more afraid. 

But lately there’s Angie, teasing out scraps of sunlight until Peggy feels full and alive. Calling her English, with a smirk that makes Peggy’s thighs clench. Tiptoeing down the hall late at night and into Peggy’s room, and making those thighs tremble and shake.

Mrs. Fry is waiting at the foot of the stairs, and Peggy and Angie both freeze. Peggy stops abruptly mid laugh. Angie stumbles and knocks shoulders with her. Mrs. Fry scowls, shakes her head and looks at the clock.

"Sorry Mrs. F," Angie says, more flippant than apologetic. She holds up her bare wrist. "You know how it is. Sometimes the watch just doesn’t match the duds."

That sets Peggy off laughing again, half-smothered snickers that Angie ineffectually tries to shush. Mrs. Fry’s expression darkens, and then she sighs in resigned disgust.

"Have you two been drinking?" she asks, giving Peggy and Angie her sternest over-the-glasses stare.

"Nooo…" Angie begins, and Peggy straightens her back.

"We most certainly have not been," she says, and from the threatened laughter in Angie’s hitch of breath, she worries she may have laid the prim outrage on a touch thick. Oh well. Commit, commit, commit, right? What was true in the theatre was equally true in espionage (and it was one of those things she knew she and Angie could have had in common, excepting of course that Angie could never know she was a spy.)

Mrs. Fry sniffs. “I suppose I should to grateful you haven’t dragged in any men behind you.” She cocks her head.  _Go upstairs, ladies_ , and Peggy and Angie slink by.

Angie links her arm through Peggy’s and leans in close.  “No, we wouldn’t want that,” she whispers to Peggy as they climb the stairs, which sets them off into a fresh fit of hushed giggles. 

"Absolutely not," Peggy agrees. They turn a corner and meet solitude. Peggy swoops in quickly, presses Angie up against the wall and kisses her well. Her fingers slip through the loose tendrils falling from Angie’s updo, and when Peggy pulls away, Angie’s lips are stained carmine and swollen. Peggy smiles, and Angie leans up to kiss her again. 

Boys and men would have only gotten in their way.


End file.
